


Lazy Afternoon

by transcoranic



Category: Godsfall Podcast D&D Campaign
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcoranic/pseuds/transcoranic
Summary: Pera leaned back against a sack of wheat and dipped his toes into the languid water of the river. The afternoon was warm, air thick with heat, so much that he almost imagined that he could reach out and grasp a beam of sunlight. The grain barge creaked, the sound soft and familiar, like home.





	Lazy Afternoon

Pera leaned back against a sack of wheat and dipped his toes into the languid water of the river. It was a warm afternoon, the air thick with heat, so much that he almost imagined that he could reach out and grasp a beam of sunlight. The grain barge creaked, the sound soft and familiar, like home. He knew every inch of this route, the birds in the rushes, the places where the banks of the river were high and orange-brown with clay, and the lightning-struck tree just around the next bend covered in a thick layer of green moss. He loved the sameness of it all, the way it never changed, even when the world around him did. He loved the quiet. He loved the way he could perch on top of the high mounds of wheat and pretend that he was the only person in the world, alone in an endless forest.

Well, not quite alone. From the other side of the barge, Daryl’s tenor voice rose and echoed against the banks of the river. He was singing a harvest song, one that, a hundred years before, had been a hymn to Siforr. Now the words had changed, praising the sun with no mention of gods. 

In another time, Daryl could have been the best bard in his generation. He had a way with his voice, with words, with people like Pera never would. When Daryl sang he made you want to sing along and when you joined a chorus his voice supported rather than overwhelmed, joining together and making a greater whole. When Pera joined the chorus, Daryl wove harmony, improvising variations on the ancient theme. Even the birds seemed to stop in deference to his voice, this moment in time that seemed to stretch out into eternity. There was only Daryl and the river, the soft sounds of the barge parting the water, the--

 

The singing stopped abruptly, mid-phrase. Silence echoed strangely over the suddenly-still river. Even the birds had gone silent. Daryl’s strangled choke seemed to echo across the water louder than his singing. Pera scrambled up the shifting grain, willing his bare feet to find purchase as the world seemed to slide out under him.

It happened in slow motion. The man, dressed all in black with a dark mask covering his face, stepped out of nowhere onto the barge. His sword glinted in the sunlight, cold and hard, casting the pale gold afternoon light in an ugly silver scar against the soft reds of the clay banks of the river. He spun it around his hand, once, twice, casual, like his next action meant nothing to him.

And then the sword plunged into Daryl’s chest. 

Capillary blood, surface blood, like a scraped knee, looks red-orange. When you cut deeper it comes out crimson, thicker than you expect, already clotting as it leaves your skin. The blood that splashed across the deck was dark red, so much of it that it couldn’t clot, couldn’t stop, pulsing out of Daryl’s chest as he managed to get out one last, rasping breath.

There were others now, clambering out of a boat and onto the barge. They weren’t needed. Pera stood, frozen in fear, as the man in the mask casually kicked Daryl’s body into the river. The splash seemed too fast, far away, like he was hearing it from the end of a tunnel. And then the man was climbing toward him, effortless against the uncertain grain, droplets of blood flinging off his blade and splattering across the harvest that Pera would never get to market. 

The pommel of the sword made a quiet _thock_ as it slammed into Pera’s skull and everything went black.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Godsfall fic! To all 3 people who will read this: I love you


End file.
